thegraverunnersguildfandomcom-20200216-history
Wyn: Kind Of Okay
Morgan Wyn greatly preferred to be on top, but she wasn't really that fucking picky. Not about anything. Handsome boys, pretty boys, handsome girls, pretty girls, people she wasn't really sure about until she asked but knew made her entire brain go yes, please and thank you. Her roommate at the guildhall fucking hated her. He had basically moved out, but his shit was still in the room -- he came by for it sometimes and glared at her, at her clothes strewn about, her bed unmade, throwing knives stuck in the walls, books scattered around, usually someone dozing half naked in her bed or in a pile of blankets on the floor that he had to step around. She knew Ysra hated her, because every time he came by he glared at her and said as much. She typically blew a raspberry at him and absently made a jerking-off motion without looking up from her book. He was a fuckin’ buzzkill. God, he was hot, though. That whole strong and silent thing. Morgan fucking Wyn didn't change for anyone though, and she could fuck whatever half-orc she wanted -- granted, there weren't a lot of them in Sienna Springs -- and none of them looked like Ysra -- but nah, he was all uptight and shit, with his Shargaas altar and his … folding clothes, or whatever. Dick. ### Morgan fucking Wyn changed, though, after she found the Queen. She did it for -- for herself. Yeah. Yeah. Shit seemed a little more real suddenly, and she didn't have the time to pick up handsome girls and pretty boys, and when she went back to her room she kind of just wanted to be able to find things without tearing through discarded laundry and tossed-away paperbacks. She had a lot of shit to do. She had -- a lot of shit to do, and she'd always been damned good at whatever job the guildmaster gave her, and hadn't had to really try, but this was work now. Effort. Fucking stressful. Had to think it through herself, plan carefully, no one to blame if it fell through. She just wanted her books to be organized, lined up neatly. It became real fuckin’ important one evening that she accomplish this simple, basic task, but then she got caught up on how to categorize them, which should’ve been easy -- alphabetical, by author name, then title -- but what if she grouped them by genre, or by which ones were her favorites, or she made a careful rainbow out of the colors of their spines -- And when Ysra walked in she was curled with her back against her shelves and her knees to her chest, clutching her favorite novel and sobbing. He stared at her from the doorway. She didn't respond -- let him fucking watch, let the whole hallway hear her, see if she fucking cared -- but after a beat he closed the door and came to sit by her. He still didn't say anything, or touch her, just … sat with her. After her breathing evened out, he commented, “You cleaned up the room.” “Yeah.” Her voice was still ragged. “I couldn't … couldn't ever find shit.” He was quiet again, for a bit. “You want me to help you shelve your books?” “I guess.” She scraped a sleeve across her eyes. “If you want.” ### Ysra kissed her first, and she thought, I fucking knew it, and she didn't gloat out loud because she didn't want to ruin the moment. He pushed her down on the floor, and she flipped on top of him, and he shoved her to her back, and she fought her way upright -- and they struggled and snarled and grabbed at each other -- why won't you just let me -- because fuck you, that's why --'' and at one point someone from down the hall banged on the door and asked if they were all right. Morgan yelled for them to fuck off and Ysra took advantage of the distraction to pin her, and when she cried out in delight the concerned thief outside took it for something different and forced the door open -- getting an eyeful of half-elf and half-orc skin. Ysra ripped one of her knives out of the wall and launched it at the interloper, who scarpered off, closing the door behind them. Morgan thought she preferred to be on top, but goddamn, she really liked the warmth of him pushing down on her. ### She told Ysra about the Sanguine Queen after the first time they slept together -- actually shared a bed and actually slept. She woke up with his arms and legs tangled around her and thought it was fucking weird, but kind of fucking nice. She rolled to look at him -- his hair a mess, his warpaint smudged onto her pillow. He was so fucking … he was sort of beautiful, actually. God, maybe this was what people had tried to tell her she was missing out on. This morning after shit. Relationships, or whatever. She told him about the Queen, and what she'd done, what she’d promised. He wanted to see it for himself, and she refused to take him, and they fought, and he stormed out, and she was left wondering what the fuck he was so mad about. She focused on her work. Fuck Ysra. Being fucking irrational and shit. Saying he wanted to help her take over the guild and then fucking off to leave all the planning to her when he found out why. She wasn't … hurt, or whatever. He came back that evening looking like he'd been crying, warpaint bleeding away from his eyes. Later -- too late -- she thought he looked ''changed. He told her he was just fucking scared for her, because this shit seemed dangerous. He wanted to help her, he said -- he did -- he just needed her to trust him a little more, let him in, let him closer “I don't trust you,” she said flatly. “I don't fuckin’ trust anybody.” That made him go quiet, and he sat at his altar and prayed silently for a while, and she drew out plans. Towns and cities, trade routes. Thieves’ underground tunnels, places to dig new ones. The problem was that she did trust Ysra, and she let him come back over and distract her and pull her away to her bed, let him strip her down and make her vulnerable. She closed her eyes. That was the problem. She didn't fuck him, she slept with him, and once he was done, he rammed a stiletto into her back. It hurt more because she was almost asleep. It hurt more because she was still so, so comfortably warm from his body heat. It hurt more, though, because her breath caught and her blood surged out of her with a vengeance and everything went black and she felt her body wrenching itself apart, tearing in two, destroying itself to be reborn. When her vision came back she was still on her stomach and her bed was a pool of tacky blood, and she was watching herself -- watching herself stab Ysra over and over and fucking over again with the knife he'd killed her with. And she was crying, “You fucking backstabber, you fucking traitor, you motherfucker,” and he was in a pool of blood that, like hers, said he'd been dead for a while. Morgan pushed herself up shakily, legs weak, tumbled out of bed to tackle herself off him. “Hey, hey, stop, he's done, he's fucking dead,” she said, pinning herself. She dropped the knife, finally. “Oh, god,” she said. “Oh, my fucking god,” she said. ### Morgan fucking Wyn didn't need Ysra. She was an assassin, and a spy, and a thief. She made his body disappear, and she made the blood disappear, and between the two of them, they took the guild and they took Sienna Springs. No one ever fucking questioned the new guildmaster about where her old roommate had gotten to. She didn't sleep with people anymore -- didn't actually sleep, didn't close her eyes, didn't wake up the next morning tangled in anyone's arms. She watched her own fucking back, and when she left Sienna Springs, the Queen sent one of her little scaled children to watch her back, too. She didn't ask the Queen, What did you do to him? What did you say to him? Why did you make him kill me? Why did you make him do it like that? Why did you change him? It didn't matter. She just stayed on top. ### She really fucking enjoyed the way Goro looked at her, all calculating, throwing ideas at her, watching for reactions but never really pausing to let slip his own. He came to her looking like he'd already lost a fight, talking like he didn't care about it. She'd taken Sienna Springs, and Gentleglen, and Iceport, and Moorland, a bite from Alabaster and half of Skyport. She had died and died and died. She felt fucking old and fucking jaded and fucking exhausted. She had everything she'd wanted, all the power, all the control, except that she didn't, really, with the little red dragon laying across her shoulders. Goro looked miserable and desperate to not be, to find something to accomplish, to organize his books. He started and stopped, though, and she hesitated, and stroked his cheek, and pulled back. He tried to push her down but he didn't try it again, and she was pleased enough, liked him enough that when he came up behind her, afterwards, she let him. It'd been about fifteen fucking years; she only froze for a moment. No knives. No weapons. Never fucking again. It was weird how sweet and clingy he was. She didn't mind it. Just felt indifferent, at first, then kind of thought she might like it, actually, might have kind of missed it. She wasn't going to sleep with him, but she figured if they stayed there long enough, maybe she would wear him out and he'd sleep with her. She liked that, somehow. He seemed tired. Seemed like he needed a rest. But then she remembered she had shit to do. She had an appointment to keep with herself, tell her what had happened, share information. Couldn't just fuck around and see what happened. Work to focus on. ### She was so -- goddamn tired. Wasn’t thinking clearly. It had been a fucking week. She still found Goro pretty entertaining, though, figured he would help her stay awake -- figured he was full of shit, talking about being a healer and massage being a form of healing. Well, he was a cleric, obviously, but he was the most shifty cleric she had ever met. She just assumed they were both full of shit. She was just so goddamn tired. She was just going to lay down for a second, take a breath, acclimate to the fact that he was here in the room she slept in, didn’t really let people other than herself into. She didn’t really think he was a threat, oddly, even though she’d let him keep his weapons. But she didn’t really care if he was, just now. Didn’t think that she did, anyway, until she felt his weight on top of her, and the slightest touch against her back. Fifteen years. It’d been fifteen fucking years since Ysra had fucked everything up, and she still twisted in place, and the knife they’d killed each other with was in her hand with the point angled at Goro’s belly. Shit, she thought. He didn’t scramble away like she would have thought, or go for his own knife -- just froze, hands up. Apologized as soon as he’d said anything. Did it again, after a moment. Morgan couldn’t fucking figure out what he wanted from her. She’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together in the mead hall, spinning bullshit, seeing how sharp he was, what he picked up on. It was interesting -- he was interesting. She was content to leave it at that. Goddamn Bala was interesting, too, but Bala didn’t want to follow her up to her room, didn’t fidget on the edge of the bed, didn’t keep trying to fucking cuddle with her. She was a deeply fucking paranoid person, for extremely good reasons, and it seemed unlikely but now possible that he just fucking ... wanted to. She kept indicating that she didn’t care for it, that it meant nothing to her, that it couldn’t be used to win her over, and he still decided -- just fucking decided -- that he was going to give her a backrub. Could have gone about it in a less alarming way, but he seemed to be fucking serious about it. She wondered if this was how people felt when they realized she’d never technically lied to them. Deceived by the lack of deception. Well, she didn’t think she fucking liked it, but she did feel bad for almost gutting him. “You can stay,” she said, because he hadn’t bolted, so it seemed like he fucking wanted to, still, “but I don’t know what I’m supposed to fucking do with you.” It probably came out snippy, or sarcastic, or annoyed, but it was honest. Just honest. “It’s fine,” she said, too -- “You can come back, or whatever.” And he did it real slowly, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he thought he might scare her and didn’t want to, or thought if he scared her she might attack him again. He acted so goddamn careful. She wondered if she should tell him about Ysra, tell him everything about Ysra, tell him, Hey, listen, the problem is that the last person who acted like he gave a shit and wanted to cuddle me also stabbed me right in the goddamn heart, so chill the fuck out, maybe. I just wanted to fuck you, I don’t want to sleep with you. No point in it, though. It’d just be giving him bolts to fire into her, and there was no reason to do that. She was fucking tired, but she wasn’t stupid; she was staying awake and she was staying on top. The entire time he was going slow, though, she figured this motherfucker was dying to crash into her and hug the hell out of her, but didn’t know if he could safely. She sort of wanted him to just get it over with so she could see how she felt about it. She didn't know if it'd actually make her feel any better -- it seemed like the cuddling was for his benefit, but god, that one morning -- that one time she'd woken up tangled in Ysra's body before the Queen had changed him -- it'd been fucking great. Really fucking great. He tugged at her hands a little bit, and she went along with it, and he put his arm around her, and she went along with that, too. It was comfortable. Like -- physically comfortable, was all. He was kind of fucking bony, but she’d probably be fucking weirded out if he felt like Ysra, so maybe that was better. Yeah. That was … that was okay. This was kind of okay, she guessed. Category:Vignettes